UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORN  A   SAN  DIEGC 


3  1822019460591 


FOH  (£BILl3EJH 


Central  University  Library 

University  of  California,  San  Diego 
Please  Note:  This  item  is  subject  to  recall. 

Date  Due 


APR  1  0  1995 


0139(7/93) 


UCSD  Li). 


UNIVERS 


OFCLORNASANDtO 


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SUNSHINE 


OTHER  VERSES  FOR  CHILDREN 


KATHARINE    LEE    BATES 


PRINTED   BY    THE   WELLESLEY    ALUMNA    FOR   THE 
BENEFIT   OF  THE 

NORUMBEGA    FUND 

1890 


Copyright,  1890, 
BY  KATHARINE  LEE  BATES. 


BOSTON : 

PRINTED    BY    FRANK   WOOD, 
WASHINGTON   STREET. 


DEDICATED 

TO 

ALMA  MATER'S   GRANDCHILDREN. 


But  first  this  whisper  in  your  ears  : 

I'm  such  a  foolish  book, 
Read  me  in  a  corner,  dears, 

And  don't  let  Grandma  look. 


CONTENTS. 


PART  I. 

PAGE 

Sunshine  ........  3 

Vacation  Song          ......  7 

In  Refuge 8 

A  Song  of  Riches    .         .         .         .         .         .  10 

The  Rivulet n 

Robin's  Secret           ......  13 

On  a  Ramble    .......  14 

Phoebe       ........  16 

Little  Shadowtail 17 

Nutting  Song  ........  19 

Baby  Beth 20 

Baby's  Baggage         .         .         .         .         .         .  21 

The  Secret 22 

Grandfather's  Story           .....  23 

Idleness    ........  27 

Fair  Weather 28 

PART  II. 

Santa  Claus'  Riddle 33 

Goody  Santa  Claus          .....  38 

Slumber  Fairies        ......  47 

Fairy  Guesses  .......  49 


VI  CONTENTS. 

Fairy's  Lullaby rO 

Fairy  Rip  van  Winkle rj 

The  Wishing-Cap     ......  r? 

Baby  Hazel's  Voyage eg 

Wide  Awake  and  Fast  Asleep           •         •         •  57 

The  Sun  out  of  Temper 58 

The  Little  Knight  in  Green     ....  60 

PART  III. 

Children's  Sunday  ......  6c 

Children's  Hymn 66 

Christmas  Carol 67 

Easter  Lilies gg 

Thanksgiving  Night 69 

The  Empty  Room    ......  70 

Sandalphon's  Rosebuds 72 

The  Rainbow  Path ? 


PART   I. 


SUNSHINE. 

HE  sun  rode  high,  and  the  dear  green 

Earth 
Was  stirred  in  her  motherly  heart  with 

mirth  ; 

And  to  every  blossom  and  dancing  spray 
She  gave  the  grace  of  a  holiday. 

And  oh  !  what  laughter  the  silver  breeze 
Shook  from  the  leaves  of  the  poplar  trees  ! 
How  the  streamlet,  with  all  her  sweet  blue  eyes, 
Smiled  on  the  sport  of  the  dragon-flies  ! 

The  flashing  humming-bird  deeply  dipped 
In  the  yellow  tulip  ;  the  blithe  bee  sipped 
From  the  purple,  delicate  cups  of  wine 
That  he  found  on  the  morning-glory  vine. 

The  smallest  fly  and  the  least  red  thorn 
Were  fair  with  summer  and  fresh  with  morn, 
When  who  should  chance  on  the  sunlit  place, 
But  a  little  girl  with  a  sulky  face  ? 


4  SUNSHINE. 

Through  all  the  music  and  merriment 
She  came,  to  trouble  the  world's  content ; 
And  wheresoever  her  feet  did  pass, 
A  shadow  fell  on  the  gleaming  grass. 

She  leaned  out  over  the  rivulet, 

And  all  at  once  it  began  to  fret, 

And  wrinkled  its  waves  to  a  frown  like  that 

She  carried  under  her  broad-brimmed  hat. 

A  carpet  shaming  the  wealth  of  earls, 
Softer  than  satin  and  bright  with  pearls, 
She  crushed,  nor  heeded  the  spider's  grief, 
As  he  wiped  his  eyes  on  a  clover-leaf. 

'Twas  Saturday,  after  the  count  of  men  ; 
But  the  simple  folk  of  meadow  and  glen, 
Clear  of  the  calendar's  restless  freak, 
Keep  seven  Sabbaths  in  every  week. 

And  thus  it  happened  that  through  the  dells 
A  soft  chime  floated  of  flower-bells, 
And  the  child  at  the  roots  of  a  tall,  white  birch 
Came  on  the  worshippers  all  in  church. 

The  brook  was  an  organ,  passing  sweet ; 
On  the  swaying  bough  was  the  choir  seat ; 
And  the  blue,  blue  heaven  bent  close  to  heed 
The  murmured  words  of  the  woodland  creed. 


SUNSHINE.  $ 

The  Reverend  Buttercup  leaned  across 
A  velvet  pulpit  of  greenest  moss, 
And  preached  a  sermon,  in  still,  small  voice, 
Whose  text  was  ever,  "  Rejoice  !  rejoice  !  " 

"Behold,"  quoth  he,  "how  our  Father's  care 
Hath  wrought  the  meadow  exceeding  fair  ; 
And  my  jocund  heart  doth  overrun 
With  fragrant  summer  and  fervid  sun. 

"Behold,"  quoth  he,  "  though  I  barely  fold 
In  my  tiny  chalice  a  drop  of  gold, 
How  I  yet  reflect  and,  reflecting,  praise 
The  sun  on  whom  I  have  set  my  gaze. 

"  Bless  God,"  he  cried,  "  with  a  sweet  perfume, 
With  tuneful  ripple  and  tinted  bloom, 
With  dance  of  grasses,  and  faces  bright, 
Bless  God,  the  Giver  of  all  delight ! " 

So  the  preacher  spake,  and  at  every  line 
Nodded  the  listening  columbine  ; 
And  the  lady's-slipper  resolved  that  day 
To  walk  henceforth  in  the  upward  way. 

The  downy  owlet  forgot  to  blink  ; 

The  robin  heard,  and  the  bobolink, 

And  the  wild-briar  rose,  who  blushed  to  think 

Of  her  thorny  ways  till  her  buds  turned  pink. 


6  SUNSHINE. 

A  tremulous  tear,  like  a  dew-drop,  wet 
The  downcast  eye  of  the  violet ; 
And  her  prayer  of  trustful  penitence 
Was  wafted  to  heaven  for  frankincense. 

And  the  little  lass  of  the  pouting  lip 
Smoothed,  with  a  rosy  finger-tip, 
From  her  tangled  forehead  the  dreary  frown, 
And  hid  her  face  in  her  ringlets  brown. 

But  she  peeped  from  between  the  wind-blown 

locks 

At  the  clink  of  the  contribution-box  ; 
And  when  the  squirrel  came  down  the  aisle, 
In  his  acorn-cup  she  dropped  a  smile. 

Then  the  little  lass  of  the  laughing  lip 
They  welcomed  into  their  fellowship  ; 
And  many  a  daisy  and  clover-stem 
Kissed  her  foot  and  her  garment's  hem. 

And  the  story  saith  that  forever  more 
On  her  soft  brown  tresses  the  maiden  wore 
A  crown  of  sunshine  this  side  of  heaven, 
And  she  kept  her  Sabbath  day  all  the  seven. 


VACATION  SONG. 


VACATION  SONG. 

HAVE  shut  my  books  and  hidden  my 

slate 
And  tossed  my  satchel  across  the  gate. 


My  school  is  out  for  a  season  of  rest, 

And  now  for  the  school-room  I  love  the  best ! 


My  school-room  lies  on  the  meadow  wide, 
Where  under  the  clover  the  sunbeams  hide, 
Where  the  long  vines  cling  to  the  mossy  bars 
And  the  daisies  twinkle  like  fallen  stars  ; 

Where  clusters  of  buttercups  gild  the  scene 
Like  showers  of  gold-dust  thrown  over  the  green, 
And  the  wind's  flying  footsteps  are  traced,  as 

they  pass, 
By  the  dance  of  the  sorrel  and  dip  of  the  grass. 

My  lessons  are  written  in  clouds  and  trees, 
And  no  one  whispers,  except  the  breeze, 
That  sometimes  blows,  from  a  secret  place, 
A  stray,  sweet  blossom  against  my  face. 


8  IN  REFUGE. 

My  school-bell  rings  in  the  rippling  stream, 
That  hides  itself,  like  a  school-boy's  dream, 
Under  the  shadow  and  out  of  sight, 
But  laughing  still  for  its  own  delight. 

My  school-mates  there  are  the  birds  and  bees, 
And  the  saucy  squirrel,  more  dull  than  these, 
For  he  only  learns,  in  all  the  weeks, 
How  many  chestnuts  will  fill  his  cheeks. 

My  teacher  is  patient,  and  never  yet 
A  lesson  of  hers  did  I  once  forget, 
For  wonderful  lore  do  her  lips  impart, 
And  all  her  lessons  are  learned  by  heart. 

Oh,  come  !  oh,  come  !  or  we  shall  be  late, 
And  Autumn  will  fasten  the  golden  gate. 
Of  all  the  school-rooms  in  east  or  west, 
The  school  of  Nature  I  love  the  best. 


IN    REFUGE. 

EY,  for  the  glint  of  the  wild-briar  rose, 
In  the  cool,  green  depths  of  the  forest ! 
And  hey  for  the  haunt  that  Somebody 

knows, 
When  the  noontide  sun  is  sorest ! 


IN  REFUGE. 

Soft  through  the  treetops  the  south  wind  goes, 
With  footsteps  learned  of  the  clouds,  suppose  ; 
And  playing  at  sentry  the  rose-bay  glows 
Amid  the  ferns  of  the  forest. 

Hey,  for  the  glint  of  the  wild-briar  rose, 

In  the  cool,  green  depths  of  the  forest ! 
And  hey  for  the  haunt  that  Somebody  knows, 

When  the  noontide  sun  is  sorest ! 
Over  their  sylvan  porticoes 
Squirrels  gossip  with  sleepy  crows — 
The  only  birds  that  can  talk  in. prose — 
Above  the  ferns  of  the  forest. 

Hey,  for  the  glint  of  the  wild-briar  rose, 
In  the  cool,  green  depths  of  the  forest  ! 

And  hey  for  the  haunt  that  Somebody  knows, 
When  the  noontide  sun  is  sorest ! 

The  sweet-bay,  crushed  for  a  couch,  bestows 

Drowsy  fragrance,  and  virtue  flows 

From  the  shadowy  pines,  till  eyelids  close 
Amid  the  ferns  of  the  forest. 

Hey,  for  the  glint  of  the  wild-briar  rose, 
In  the  cool,  green  depths  of  the  forest ! 

And  hey  for  the  haunt  that  Somebody  knows, 
When  the  noontide  sun  is  sorest ! 

Drop  your  budget  of  cares  and  woes 


10  A  SONG    OF  RICHES. 

(The  wind,  while   you  dream,  will  be  off  with 

those,) 

And  come  where  never  a  thorn  tree  grows 
Amid  the  ferns  of  the  forest. 


A   SONG   OF   RICHES. 

HAT  will  you  give  to  a  barefoot  lass, 

Morning  with  breath  like  wine  ? 
Wade,  bare  feet !     In  my  wide  morass 
Starry  marigolds  shine. 


Alms,  sweet  Noon,  for  a  barefoot  lass, 
With  her  laughing  looks  aglow  ! 

Run,  bare  feet !     In  my  fragrant  grass 
Golden  buttercups  blow. 

Gift,  a  gift  for  a  barefoot  lass, 
O  twilight  hour  of  dreams  ! 

Rest,  bare  feet,  by  my  lake  of  glass, 
Where  the  mirrored  sunset  gleams. 

Homeward  the  weary  merchants  pass, 
With  the  gold  bedimmed  by  care. 

Little  they  wis  that  the  barefoot  lass 
Is  the  only  millionaire. 


THE  RIVULET. 


THE  RIVULET. 

ORNING  in  roseate  lines 
Glimmers  beyond  the  pines. 
Blithely  the  blackbird  sings, 

Night  on  his  dusky  wings. 

But  see  !  as  he  flirts  them  so, 

'Tis  the  sunrise  glints  below, 

And  the  joy  of  breaking  day 

Rings  in  his  roundelay. 

But  bolder,  merrier  yet, 

The  song  of  the  rivulet. 

Mine  is  the  path  to  the  sea. 
Bird  and  blossom  and  bee 
Wish  me  well  as  I  pass. 
Rock  and  tangle  of  grass 
Fret  my  waves  as  I  run. 
Still  in  shadow  and  sun 
Seaward  ever  I  flee 
To  my  home  in  the  silver  sea. 

Noon  in  the  azure  sky. 
Even  the  twinkling  fly 
Faints  on  the  violet's  lip. 
Low  where  the  alders  dip 
Over  the  brook  and  lean 
To  ruffle  the  ripples  sheen, 


12  THE  RIVULET. 

A  bluebird  dreamily  croons 
Snatches  of  sleepy  tunes. 
But  softer,  drowsier  yet, 
The  song  of  the  rivulet. 

Mine  is  the  path  to  the  sea. 
Bird  and  blossom  and  bee 
Wish  me  well  as  I  pass. 
Rock  and  tangle  of  grass 
Fret  my  waves  as  I  run. 
Still,  in  shadow  and  sun 
Seaward  ever  I  flee 
To  my  home  in  the  silver  sea. 

Sunset  flames  in  the  west. 
Flowers  are  folded  to  rest. 
The  clear- toned  robins  invoke 
God's  peace  on  the  woodland  folk, 
While  high  from  the  ancient  oak, 
Each  in  his  scarlet  cloak, 
The  tanagers,  sparks  of  fire, 
Vary  the  vesper  choir. 
But  sweeter,  holier  yet, 
The  song  of  the  rivulet. 

Mine  is  the  path  to  the  sea. 
Bird  and  blossom  and  bee 
Wish  me  well  as  I  pass. 
Rock  and  tangle  of  grass 


ROBIN'S   SECRET.  13 

Fret  my  waves  as  I  run. 
Still  in  shadow  and  sun 
Seaward  ever  I  flee 
To  my  home  in  the  silver  sea. 


ROBIN'S   SECRET. 

IS  the  blithest,  bonniest  weather  for  a 

bird  to  flirt  a  feather, 
For  a  bird  to  trill  and  warble,  all  his 

wee  red  breast  a-swell. 
I've  a  secret.    You  may  listen  till  your  blue  eyes 

dance  and  glisten, 

Little   maiden,  but   I'll   never,  never,  never, 
never  tell. 

You'll  find  no  more  wary  piper,  till  the  straw 
berries  wax  riper 
In  December  than  in  June — aha  !  all  up  and 

down  the  dell, 
Where  my  nest  is  set,  for  certain,  with  a  pink 

and  snowy  curtain, 

East   or   west,   but   which    I'll  never,  never, 
never,  never  tell. 

You   may  prick  me  with  a  thistle,   if  you  ever 

hear  me  whistle 

How  my  brooding  mate,  whose  weariness  my 
carols  sweet  dispel, 


14  ON  A    RAMBLE. 

All  between  the  clouds  and  clover,  apple-blos 
soms  drooping  over, 

Twitters  low  that  I  must  never,  never,  never, 
never  tell. 

Oh,  I  swear  no  closer  fellow  stains  his  bill  in 

cherries  mellow. 
Tra  la  la  !  and  tirra  lirra  !     I'm  the  jauntiest 

sentinel, 
Perched  beside  my  jewel-casket,  where  lie  hidden 

— don't  you  ask  it, 

For   of   those    three    eggs    I'll   never,    never, 
never,  never  tell. 

Chirp  !  chirp  !  chirp  !  alack  !   for    pity  !       Who 

hath  marred  my  merry  ditty? 
Who  hath  stirred  the  scented  petals,  peeping 

in  where  robins  dwell  ? 
Oh,    my    mate  !      May    Heaven    defend   her ! 

Little  maidens'  hearts  are  tender, 
And  I  never,  never,  never,  never,  never  meant 
to  tell. 

ON    A  RAMBLE. 


OME  !  come  !  come  ! 

Follow,  lad,  with  me 
On  behind  the  stirring  drum 
Of  Captain  Bumblebee. 


ON  A   RAMBLE. 

Hush  !  hush  !  hush  ! 

Finger  on  the  lip  ! 
Between  the  ferns  a  tiny  thrush 

Goes  running — skip,  skip,  skip. 

Look  !  look  !  look  ! 

Did  ever  laddie  see 
Softer  nest  in  greener  nook 

With  birdies  one,  two,  three  ? 

Nay  !  nay  !  nay  ! 

Curly  headed  thief ! 
If  we  steal  the  brood  away, 

Who  will  heal  the  grief? 

Hear  !  hear  !  hear 

The  poor  brown  mother's  cries  ! 
Now  blessings  on  the  gentle  tear 

That  dims  my  laddie's  eyes  ! 

Come  !  come  !  come  ! 

Not  one  wee  heart  shad  ache 
In  any  humblest  woodland  home 

For  mine  or  laddie's  sake. 


1 6  PHCEBE. 


PHCEBE. 

HE  sun  lies  sheen  on  lake  and  lea ; 
The  south  wind  bends  the  corn ; 
But  what  are  sun  and  wind  to  me, 
A  captive  all  forlorn? 


The  wind  it  seeks  a  sheltered  nest, 
Where  I  no  more  may  sing ; 

The  sunbeams,  slanting  from  the  west, 
Have  flushed  a  brooding  wing. 

Oh,  long,  long,  long,  my  faithful  mate 
Shall  bear  the  hunger-pain, 

And  through  the  light  and  shadow  wait 
For  me  to  come  again. 

I'll  send  a  letter  to  my  dear 

And  tell  her  all  my  grief. 
The  gentle  rose,  that  blossoms  near, 

Lets  fall  a  fragrant  leaf. 

A  pearly  feather  from  my  breast 

I'll  pluck  me  for  a  quill, 
And  where  the  ruddy  sunbeams  rest, 

My  little  pen  I'll  fill. 


LITTLE   SHADOWTA1L. 

And  courteous  wind,  oh,  waft  her  soon 

This  silken  rose-leaf  white  ; 
My  love  beneath  the  silver  moon 

Shall  con  it  all  the  night. 

And  oh  !  if  birds,  as  poets  ween, 
If  birds  have  hearts  to  break, 

The  dawn  shall  find  my  bonny  queen 
Death-cold  for  sorrow's  sake. 

And  I  shall  sit  with  silent  throat 
And  drooping  plumes,  nor  heed 

The  childish  tones  that  bid  me  note 
The  water  and  the  saed. 

If  then  my  captors,  touched  with  shame, 

Set  wide  this  gilded  cage, 
Forevermore  I'll  call  her  name 

In  greenwood  hermitage. 


LITTLE  SHADOWTAIL. 

HERE  the  ancient  oak  droops  over 
Dewy  tufts  of  grass  and  clover, 
Through  its  blowing  leafy  sprays 
Sifting  light  in  careless  rays, 
Like  a  spendthrift  dropping  gold 
From  his  loose,  regardless  hold, 
Let  me  pause  and  bid  all  hail 
Unto  little  Shadowtail. 


LITTLE   SHADOWTAIL. 

Whist !  just  where  the  kingbird  dips, 
Spreading  wide  the  proud  white  tips 
Of  its  fanlike  tail, — just  there, 
Framed  within  his  doorway  fair, 
Buttercups  before  it  strown, 
Cloth  of  gold,  and  overgrown 
.  With  those  curly  fronds  for  veil, 
Sitteth  little  Shadowtail. 

Would  no  humbler  mansion  suit, 

But  within  the  gnarly  root 
Of  this  hoar,  historic  tree, 
Thou  must  gossip  with  the  bee, 

Peering  through  the  screening  ferns 

At  thy  neighbors'  wee  concerns, 
And  upon  the  stranger  rail, 
Shrewish  little  Shadowtail? 

Once  beneath  this  storied  oak 

Eliot  his  message  spoke, 

And  the  Red  Men,  clustered  round, 
Knew  this  earth  for  holy  ground, 

Weeping  at  the  words  divine. 

Was  some  curious  sire  of  thine 
Mocking  then  the  preacher  pale 
From  thy  threshold,  Shadowtail? 


NUTTING    SONG.  19 

He  the  sermon  deemed,  methinks, 
Dull  beside  the  bobolinks. 

'Tis  an  ancient  quarrel,  that. 

Could  I  take  thy  squirrel-chat, 
Or  thine  ears  receive  my  wit, 
Wisely  would  we  argue  it. 

Yet  shall  mighty  Truth  prevail 

Without  me  or  Shadowtail. 


NUTTING  SONG. 

OME  hither,  come  hither,  O  laddies  and 

lassies  ! 

The  daisies  have  folded  their  frills, 
But  the  purple-eyed  asters  still  peep  from  the 

grasses, 

And  the  golden-rod  shines  on  the  hills. 
Though  the  tulips  have  faded,  the  maples  are 

glowing 

With  many  a  marvellous  hue, 
And  deep  in  the  woods  where  the  brown  leaves 

are  blowing, 
The  chestnuts  are  waiting  for  you. 

We've  dreamed  of  your  coming,  at  even  and 

matin ; 
We've  dreamed  of  your  coming,  at  noon  ; 


2O  BABY  BETH. 

In   our   snug   little  cradles  all  cushioned  with 

satin, 

While  the  wind  sung  our  lullaby  tune. 
While  the  wind  rocked  our  cradles,  we  longed 

for  the  showers 

And  were  glad  of  the  sunshine  and  dew 
That  ripened  our  hearts  for  the  blithe  autumn 

hours, 
That  sweetened  our  kernels  for  you. 

Oh,  hither !    come   hither !    for  keen   the   stars 
glistened 

Last  night,  and  the  woodlands  were  crossed 
By   him    for   whose    step    the   wych-hazel  bush 
listened 

And  the  barberries  waited, —  Jack  Frost. 
He  rifled  our  caskets,  the  prickle-set  caskets, 

And  earthward  the  jewels  he  threw. 
The  squirrels  are  filling  their  queer  little  baskets — 

Oh,  come  !  we  are  waiting  for  you. 


BABY  BETH. 

OGUISH  brown-eyed  glances, 

That's  our  Baby  Beth. 
Gypsy-shy  advances, 
That's  our  Baby  Beth. 


BABY'S  BAGGAGE.  21 

Quaintest  little  fancies 

Ever  borne  on  breath, 
Frolic-footed  dances, 

That's  our  Baby  Beth. 

Sunshine-tinted  tresses, 

That's  our  Baby  Beth. 
Dainty  bits  of  dresses, 

That's  our  Baby  Beth. 
Fearless  little  guesses 

Into  life  and  death, 
Roseleaf-lipped  caresses, 

That's  our  Baby  Beth. 


BABY'S  BAGGAGE. 

HE  train  is  ready.     Come  away 

And  let  your  labor  cease. 
Mamma  has  packed  three  trunks  to 
day, 

Papa,  his  new  valise. 
But  as  for  Little  Golden-Locks, 
She  only  packed  a  chatterbox. 

The  baggage-master  touched  a  cap 

With  shining  letters  decked, 
And  so  to  guard  from  all  mishap, 

The  bag  and  trunks  he  checked  ; 


22  THE    SECRET. 

But  never  stayed  for  Golden- Locks, 
Or  counted  in  the  chatterbox. 

A  new  official  sauntered  soon 

In  slippers  down  the  cars, 
Who  softly  hummed  a  drowsy  tune. 

His  badge  was  wrought  in  stars. 
'Twas  Sleep  who  smiled  on  Golden-Locks, 
And  checked  at  last  the  chatterbox. 


THE  SECRET. 

HE  blossoms  whispered  the  whole  night 

through. 
Their  cups  were  as  full  as  they  could 

hold 
Of  a  secret  sweet  as  the  honeyed  dew. 

"What  will  you  give  her?  and  you?  and  you?' 
Nodding  their  heads  as  each  gift  was  told, 
The  blossoms  whispered  the  whole  night  through. 

Sighed  violets  twain — "  For  her  eyes  of  blue 
We  die  this  night  in  the  moonbeams  cold, 
Smiling  to  Heaven  through  tears  of  dew." 


GRANDFATHER'S   STORY.  23 

"  My  pinkest  bud  is  my  birthgift  true, 
Shy  kisses  and  lisping  words  to  fold," 
The  rosebud  whispered  the  whole  night  through. 

Said  a  stately  lily  as  ever  grew — 

"  I  yield  the  leveling  a  heart  of  gold  ; 

White  thoughts  enshrine  it  and  holy  dew  ! " 

O  Baby  Bud,  ere  your  petals  knew 
Earth's  lightest  blemish,  my  fragrant-souled, 
The  blossoms  whispered  the  whole  night  through 
Of  a  secret  sweet — as  sweet  as  you. 


GRANDFATHER'S   STORY. 


STORY  ?     A  story,  forsooth  ? 
An  orange,  Sir  Sweety-Tooth, 
Or  a  sugar-plum. 
No,  a  story?     Hum  ! 
Grandchildren  have  no  ruth. 
A  story  I'll  give  you,  in  truth. 
Tis  the  tribute  Age  owes  to  Youth. 

Have  you  heard  of  the  Great  Eclipse  ? 
Unless  my  memory  trips, 

It  was  years  ago 

Threescore  or  so, 


24 


GRA  ND  FA  THE  If  S   S  TOR  Y. 


Yet  from  mind  no  feature  slips 
Of  mother,  white  to  the  lips, 
Lighting  the  tallow-dips. 

For  the  sun,  our  primal  good, 
Darkened  at  noon.     The  brood 

Of  roosting  fowls 

Dreamed  they  were  owls  ; 
And  the  huddled  cattle  stood 
Pressed  to  the  bars,  in  rude 
Wonder  at  nature's  mood. 

Old  Rover,  gaunt  and  glum, 
Forgot  to  be  quarrelsome, 

But  crouched  on  the  mat 

With  the  trembling  cat ; 
And  we  youngsters,  each  with  a  thumb 
In  the  eye,  flocked  awestruck  and  dumb, 
Or  asked  :  Was  it  Kingdom  Come? 

Then  forth  from  his  library  nook 
Strode  father,  grasping  a  book 

In  his  right  hand  still, 

— A  shepherd  who  ill 
Could  the  slips  of  the  black  sheep  brook. 
We  lambs  knew  less  of  his  crook 
Than  his  rod  and  his  fire-flash  look. 


GRANDFATHER'S   STORY. 

Yet  now  that  brow  austere 
Unbending,  he  banished  our  fear 

By  words  so  wise 

That  our  saucer-eyes 
Waxed  eager  to  peep  and  peer 
Through  his  glass  at  the  troubled  sphere,- 
His  glass  that  cost  me  dear. 

When  will  the  memory  pass  ? 
Just  a  poor  smoked  bit  of  glass, 

And  we  must  not  touch 

The  smoked  side, — such 
His  word  while,  laddie  and  lass, 
We  stood  in  line  like  a  class, 
Out  in  the  door-yard  grass. 

In  that  shadow  strange  and  dun 
We  blinked  at  the  toiling  sun, 

Each  chubby  hand 

Down  the  rosy  band 
Speeding  the  glass,  till  one 
Felt  his  fumbling  fingers  run 
On  the  ground  they  were  bidden  shun. 

Alas  for  the  child-heart  frail ! 
The  finger-marks  told  the  tale. 
"  You  the  culprit?"     "No." 
Down  the  quaking  row 


26  GRANDFATHER'S   STORY. 

Swept  question  and  answer.     Pale, 
I  denied  it,  for  God  might  fail, 
And  the  sun  was  in  a  veil. 

Oh,  but  my  father's  frown  ! 

Not  my  sisters'  sobs  could  drown 

'Neath  my  home-spun  jacket 

The  traitorous  racket, 
And  I  cringed  from  toe  to  crown, — 
Poor  little  bare  toes  brown 
In  the  clover  burrowing  down  ! 

He  spoke.     Still  I  feel  the  fright, 
But  the  air  was  dusk,  like  night. 
"  Each  child  as  he  stands 

Hold  out  both  hands, 
Palms  upward."     Woe  the  plight ! 
Yet  the  stains  may  escape  his  sight, — 
Then  the  sun  burst  forth  in  light. 

Never  mind  the  rest.     My  sire 
Had  an  arm  not  swift  to  tire. 

But,  grandson  of  mine, 

In  shade  as  in  shine 
God's  truth  of  your  lips  require, 
Lest  His  sun  flash  out  in  fire 
And  look  on  you  proved  a  liar. 


IDLENESS. 


IDLENESS. 


27 


S  I  sat  still,  as  I  sat  still, 

The  milk-weed  blossomed  on  the  hill ; 

The  lilies  opened  on  the  blue, 
Wind-dimpled  pool ;  and,  stored  with  dew, 
Sailed  overhead  the  cloudy  ships  ; 
Bees  tapped  the  perfumed  clover-tips  ; 
The  running  river  fed  the  mill, 
As  I  sat  still,  as  I  sat  still. 

As  I  stood  mute,  as  I  stood  mute, 
The  wavelets  praised  the  mossy  root 
Of  beech  and  willow ;  with  their  lays 
The  birds  made  glad  the  maple-sprays ; 
The  merest  insects  piped  to  please 
The  bending  grasses,  and  the  breeze 
Coaxed  to  the  sun  the  timid  fruit, 
As  I  stood  mute,  as  I  stood  mute. 

As  I  dreamed  on,  as  I  dreamed  on, 
Full  many  a  gallant  fight  was  won  ; 
Full  many  a  noble  deed  was  wrought ; 
Full  many  a  tone  of  kindness  brought 
Its  grateful  balm  to  hearts  that  bled  ; 
Full  many  a  deathless  word  was  said  ; 
But  shadows  fell  and  day  was  gone. 
As  I  dreamed  on,  as  I  dreamed  on. 


28  FAIR    WEATHER. 


FAIR  WEATHER. 

HE  ship  had  rounded  Sandy  Hook 
With  the  blue-eyed  peep  of  day ; 
But  while  full  many  a  joyous  look 

Was  straining  up  the  bay, 
On  the  steerage  deck  together 

A  boy  and  a  woman  stood, 
Who  shrank  from  the  golden  weather 
In  wildered,  waif-like  mood. 

She  sighed  :  "This  sun  is  sair  to  bide, 

These  skies  are  na  the  same 
As  those  aboon  the  Firth  o'  Clyde 

An'  the  hills  of  our  island  hame." 
And  the  flash  of  the  seagull's  feather 

Was  one  with  the  creaming  foam 
Through  her  tears  for  the  soft,  gray  weather 

And  the  brooding  mists  of  home. 

The  child  laid  cheek  upon  her  hand, 
"  Hoots,  mither  !  dinna  greet. 
Had  I  ae  shell  frae  Arran  sand, 

An'  a  burnie,  ripplin'  sweet, 
An'  bracken  an'  purple  heather 

An'  a  bittie  o'  blossomin'  thorn, 
I  wad  mak'  ye  bonny  Scotch  weather 

To  brichten  your  heart  the  morn." 


FAIR    WEATHER. 

That  nestling  cheek  upon  her  hand, 

It  soothed  her  tears  to  smiles. 
She  leaned  out  toward  the  stranger  lan< 

As  to  her  native  isles, 
And  said  :  "Twa  hearts  thegether, 

Altho'  the  warl'  be  rude, 
Can  mak'  their  ain  gude  weather, 

A'  out  o'  tender  luve." 


29 


PART  II, 


SANTA   GLAUS'  RIDDLE. 


F  all  the  happy  and  holy  times 
That  fill  the  steeples  with  merry  chimes 
And   warm   our  hearts  in  the  coldest 

climes, 
'Twas  Christmas  eve,  as  I  live  by  rhymes. 


One  by  one  had  the  drowsy  oaks 
Wrapt  about  them  their  snow-flake  cloaks, 
And  snugly  fastened,  with  diamond  pins, 
Fleecy  nightcaps  beneath  their  chins. 

The  stars  had  kissed  the  hills  good-night, 
But  lingered  yet,  with  a  taper  light, 
Till  the  chattering  lips  of  the  little  streams 
Were  sealed  with  frost  for  their  winter  dreams. 


And  the  silver  moonbeams  softly  fell 
On  cots  as  white  as  the  lily-bell, 
Where  the  nested  children  sweetly  slept, 
While  watch  above  them  their  angels  kept. 


34  SANTA    CLAUS'   RIDDLE. 

Eyes  of  gray  and  of  hazel  hue, 
Roguish  black  eyes  and  bonny  blue, 
All  with  their  satin  curtains  drawn, 
Peeped  not  once  till  the  shining  dawn. 

But  still  through  the  silent  eventide 
Brown  eyes  twain  were  opened  wide, 
Where,  bolt  upright  in  his  pillows,  sate 
A  wise  little  wean  called  Curly  Pate. 

Not  yet  the  lore  of  schools  and  books 

Had  troubled  the  peace  of  his  childish  looks, 

But  through  the  valleys  of  Fairyland 

He  had  walked  with  Wisdom,  hand  in  hand. 

On  midsummer  eves  he  would  hear,  perchance, 
The  shrill,  sweet  pipes  of  the  elfin  dance, 
And  their  dewy  prints  in  the  dawning  trace 
On  tremulous  carpets  of  cobweb  lace. 

He  had  caught  the  clink  of  the  hammers  fine, 
Where  the  goblins  delve  in  their  darksome  mine, 
In  green  cocked  hats  of  a  queer  design, 
With  crystal  tears  in  their  ruby  eyne. 

He  had  seen  where  the  golden  basket  swings 
At  the  tip  of  the  rainbow's  dazzling  wings, 
Full  of  the  silver  spoons  that  fall 
Into  the  mouths  of  babies  small. 


SANTA    CLAUS'  RIDDLE.  35 

He  had  met  Jack  Frost  in  tippet  and  furs, 
Pricking  his  thumbs  on  the  chestnut  burrs, 
And  this  learned  laddie  could  tell,  no  doubt, 
Why  nuts  fall  down  and  friends  fall  out. 

And  now,  while  the  dusky  night  waxed  late, 
All  nid-nodding  sat  Curly  Pate, 
Scaring  the  dreams,  whose  wings  of  gauze 
Would  veil  his  vision  from  Santa  Glaus. 

And  ever  he  raised,  by  a  resolute  frown, 
The  heavy  lids  that  came  stealing  down 
To  rest  their  silken  fringes  brown 
On  the  rosiest  cheek  in  Baby-Town. 

Till  at  last,  at  last, — so  the  legend  tells, — 
He  heard  the  tinkle  of  silver  bells  ; 
Tinkle  !  tinkle  !  a  jocund  tune 
Between  the  snow  and  the  sinking  moon. 

Oh,  then,  how  the  heart  of  our  hero  beat ! 
How  it  throbbed  in  time  to  the  music  sweet, 
While  gaily  rung  on  the  frosted  roofs 
The  frolicsome  tramp  of  reindeer  hoofs. 

And  down  the  chimney  by  swift  degrees 
Came  worsted  stockings  and  velvet  knees, 
Till  from  furry  cap  unto  booted  feet 
Dear  Saint  Nicholas  stood  complete. 


36  SANTA    CLAUS'   RIDDLE. 

Blessings  upon  him  !  and  how  he  shook 
His  plump  little  sides  with  a  mirthful  look, 
As  he  crammed,  his  bright,  blue  eyes  a-twinkler 
The  bairnie's  sock  in  its  every  wrinkle. 

May  he  live  forever — the  blithe  old  soul, 
With  cheeks  so  ruddy  and  shape  so  droll, 
Throned  on  a  Yule-log,  crowned  with  holly, 
The  king  of  kindness,  the  friend  of  folly  ! 

His  task  was  done,  and  he  brushed  the  snow 
From  his  crispy  beard,  as  he  turned  to  go ; 
From  his  crispy  beard  and  his  tresses  hoar, 
As  he  tiptoed  over  the  moonlight  floor. 

But  the  sparkling  flakes  to  delicious  crumbs 
Of  frosted  cakes  and  to  sugar-plums 
Changed  as  they  fell,  whereat  near  by 
A  bubble  of  laughter  proved  the  spy. 

Back  from  the  chimney  flashed  the  saint, 
And  stamped  his  feet  in  a  rage  so  quaint 
That  from  scores  of  pockets  the  dolls  in  glee 
Popped  up  their  curious  heads  to  see. 

"Oho  !"  in  a  terrible  voice  he  spake, 
"By  the  Mistletoe  Bough  !  a  boy  awake  ! 
Now  freeze  my  whiskers  !  but  in  my  pack 
I'll  stow  him  away  for  a  jumping-jack. 


SANTA    CLAU&  RIDDLE.  37 

"Wise  as  an  owlet?     Quick  !  the  proof! 
My  reindeer  stamp  on  the  snowy  roof. 
So  read  my  riddle,  if  sage  you  be, 
Or  up  the  chimney  you  go  with  me. 

"Name  me  the  tree  of  the  deepest  roots, 
Whose  boughs  are  laden  with  sweetest  fruits, 
In  bleakest  weather  which  blooms  aright, 
And  buds  and  bears  in  a  single  night." 

Did  Curly  Pate  tremble?     Never  a  whit. 
Below  the  curls  was  the  mother-wit ; 
And  well  I  ween  that  his  two  eyes  brown 
Spied  the  dimple  beneath  the  frown. 

So  shaking  shyly,  with  childish  grace, 

The  ringlets  soft  from  his  winsome  face, 

He  peeped  through  his  lashes  and  answered  true, 

As  I  trow  that  a  brave  little  man  should  do. 

"Please  thy  Saintship,  no  eyes  have  seen 
Thy  wondrous  orchards  of  evergreen  ; 
But  where  is  the  wean  who  doth  not  long 
The  whole  year  through  for  thy  harvest  song  ? 

"The  Christmas  Tree  hath  struck  deep  roots 
In  human  hearts  :  its  wintry  fruits 
Are  sweet  with  love,  and  the  bairns  believe 
It  buddeth  and  beareth  on  Holy  Eve." 


38  GOODY  SANTA    CLAUS 

A  stir  in  the  chimney,  a  crackle  of  frost, 
A  tinkle  of  bells  on  the  midnight  lost ; 
And  in  mirth  and  music  the  riddling  guest 
Had  smiled  and  vanished,  as  saints  know  best. 

But  low  on  his  pillow  the  laddie  dear 
Sank  and  slumbered,  till  chanticleer, 
Crowing  apace,  bade  children  wake 
To  bless  the  dawn  for  the  Christ-child's  sake. 


GOODY  SANTA   CLAUS    ON   A  SLEIGH- 
RIDE. 

•  ANTA,  must  I  tease  in  vain,  Dear?    Let 

me  go  and  hold  the  reindeer, 
While  you  clamber  down  the  chimneys. 

Don't  look  savage  as  a  Turk  ! 
Why  should  you  have  all  the  glory  of  the  joyous 

Christmas  story, 

And    poor    little    Goody   Santa   Claus   have 
nothing  but  the  work  ? 

It  would  be  so  very  cozy,  you  and  I,  all  round 

and  rosy, 

Looking  like  two  loving  snowballs  in  our  fuzzy 
Arctic  furs, 


ON  A    SLEIGH-RIDE. 


39 


Tucked  in  warm  and  snug  together,  whisking 

through  the  winter  weather 
Where  the  tinkle  of  the  sleigh-bells  is  the  only 
sound  that  stirs. 

You  just  sit  here  and  grow  chubby  off  the  good 
ies  in  my  cubby 
From  December  to  December,  till  your  white 

beard  sweeps  your  knees  ; 
For  you  must  allow,  my  goodman,  that  you're 

but  a  lazy  woodman 

And  rely  on  me  to  foster  all  our  fruitful  Christ 
mas  trees. 

While  your  Saintship  waxes  holy,  year  by  year, 

and  roly-poly, 
Blessed  by  all  the  lads  and  lassies  in  the  limits 

of  the  land, 
While  your  toes  at  home  you're  toasting,  then 

poor  Goody  must  go  posting 
Out  to  plant  and  prune  and   garner,  where 
our  fir-tree  forests  stand. 

Oh  !  but  when  the  toil  is  sorest  how  I  love  our 

fir-tree  forest, 

Heart  of  light  and   heart  of  beauty  in  the 
Northland  cold  and  dim, 


4o 


GOODY  SANTA    CLAUS 


All  with  gifts  and  candles  laden  to  delight  a  boy 

or  maiden, 

And  its  dark-green  branches  ever  murmuring 
the  Christmas  hymn  ! 

Yet  ask  young  Jack  Frost,  our  neighbor,  who 

but  Goody  has  the  labor, 
Feeding  roots  with  milk  and  honey  that  the 

bonbons  may  be  sweet ! 

Who  but  Goody  knows  the  reason  why  the  play 
things  bloom  in  season 

And  the  ripened  toys  and  trinkets  rattle  gaily 
to  her  feet  ! 

From  the  time  the  dollies  budded,  wiry-boned 

and  sawdust-blooded, 
With  their  waxen  eyelids  winking  when  the 

wind  the  tree-tops  plied, 
Have  I  rested  for  a  minute,  until  now  your  pack 

has  in  it 

All  the  bright,  abundant  harvest  of  the  merry 
Christmastide  ? 

Santa,  wouldn't  it  be  pleasant  to  surprise   me 

with  a  present  ? 

And  this  ride  behind  the  reindeer  is  the  boon 
your  Goody  begs ; 


ON  A    SLEIGH-RIDE. 


4I 


Think  how  hard  my  extra  work  is,  tending  the 

Thanksgiving  turkeys 

And  our  flocks  of  rainbow  chickens — those  that 
lay  the  Easter  eggs. 

Home  to  womankind  is  suited?  Nonsense,  Good 
man  !     Let  our  fruited 
Orchards  answer  for  the  value  of  a  woman 

out-of-doors. 
Why  then  bid  me  chase  the  thunder,  while  the 

roof  you're  safely  under, 
All  to  fashion  fire-crackers  with  the  lightning 
in  their  cores  ? 

See  !     I've  fetched  my  snow-flake  bonnet,  with 

the  sunrise  ribbons  on  it ; 
I've  not  worn  it  since  we  fled  from  Fairyland 

our  wedding  day ; 
How  we  sped  through  iceberg  porches  with  the 

Northern  Lights  for  torches  ! 
You  were  young  and  slender,  Santa,  and  we 
had  this  very  sleigh. 

Jump  in  quick,  then  ?     That's  my  bonny.     Hey 

down  derry  !     Nonny  nonny  ! 
While  I  tie  your  fur  cap  closer,  I  will  kiss  your 
ruddy  chin. 


42  GOODY  SANTA    CLAUS 

I'm  so  pleased  I  fall  to  singing,  just  as  sleigh- 
bells  take  to  ringing  ! 

Are  the  cloud-spun  lap-robes  ready?     Tirra- 
lirra  !     Tuck  me  in. 


Off  across  the  starlight  Norland,  where  no  plant 

adorns  the  moorland 
Save  the   ruby-berried   holly   and   the   frolic 

mistletoe  ! 
Oh,  but  this  is  Christmas  revel  !     Off  across  the 

frosted  level 

Where   the   reindeer's   hoofs   strike   sparkles 
from  the  crispy,  crackling  snow  ! 

There's  the  Man  i'  the  Moon  before  us,  bound 

to  lead  the  Christmas  chorus 
With   the   music   of  the   sky-waves   rippling 

round  his  silver  shell — 
Glimmering  boat  that  leans  and  tarries  with  the 

weight  of  dreams  she  carries 
To  the  cots  of  happy  children.     Gentle  sailor, 
steer  her  well ! 

Now   we   pass    through    dusky   portals   to   the 

drowsy  land  of  mortals  ; 
Snow-enfolded,  silent  cities  stretch  about  us 
dim  and  far. 


ON  A    SLEIGH-RIDE. 


43 


Oh  !  how  sound  the  world  is  sleeping,  midnight 

watch  no  shepherd  keeping, 
Though  an  angel-face  shines  gladly  down  from 
every  golden  star. 

Here's  a  roof.     I'll  hold  the  reindeer.     I  sup 
pose  this  weather-vane,  Dear, 
Some  one  set  here  just  on  purpose  for  our  team 

to  fasten  to. 
There's  its  gilded  cock, — the  gaby  !— wants  to 

crow  and  tell  the  baby 

We  are  come.     Be  careful,  Santa  !     Don't  get 
smothered  in  the  flue. 

Back  so  soon?     No  chimney-swallow  dives  but 

where  his  mate  can  follow. 
Bend  your  cold  ear,  Sweetheart  Santa,  down 

to  catch  my  whisper  faint : 
Would   it  be  so  very  shocking  if  your    Goody 

filled  a  stocking 

Just    for    once  ?      Oh,    dear !     Forgive    me. 
Frowns  do  not  become  a  Saint. 

I  will  peep  in  at  the  skylights,  where  the  moon 

sheds  tender  twilights 

Equally   down    silken    chambers    and    down 
attics  bare  and  bleak. 


44 


GOODY  SANTA    CLAUS 


Let  me  shower  with  hailstone  candies  these  two 

dreaming  boys — the  dandies 
In  their  frilled  and  fluted  nighties,  rosy  cheek 
to  rosy  cheek  ! 

What!     No  gift  for  this  poor  garret?     Take  a 

sunset  sash  and  wear  it 
O'er  the  rags,  my  pale-faced   lassie,  till  thy 

father  smiles  again. 
He's   a  poet,  but — oh,  cruel !    he    has   neither 

light  nor  fuel. 

Here's  a  fallen  star  to  write  by,  and  a  music- 
box  of  rain. 

So  our    sprightly  reindeer   clamber,  with    their 

fairy  sleigh  of  amber, 
On  from  roof  to  roof,  the  woven  shades  of 

night  about  us  drawn. 
On  from  roof  to  roof  we  twinkle,  all  the  silver 

bells  a-tinkle, 

Till  blooms  in  yonder  blessed  East  the  rose 
of  Christmas  dawn. 

Now  the  pack  is  fairly  rifled,  and  poor  Santa's 

well  nigh  stifled  ; 

Yet  you  would  not  let  your  Goody  fill  a  single 
baby-sock ; 


ON  A    SLEIGH-RIDE. 

Yes,  I  know  the  task  takes  brain,  Dear. 

only  hold  the  reindeer, 

And  to  see  me  climb  down  chimney — it  would 
give  your  nerves  a  shock. 

Wait !     There's   yet  a  tiny  fellow,  smiling   lips 

and  curls  so  yellow 
You  would  think  a  truant  sunbeam  played  in 

them  all  night.     He  spins 
Giant  tops,  and  flies  kites  higher  than  the  gold 

cathedral  spire 

In   his   dreams — the  orphan   bairnie,  trustful 
little  Tatterkins. 

Santa,  don't   pass   by  the   urchin  !     Shake    the 

pack,  and  deeply  search  in 
All   your  pockets.    There   is    always  one  toy 

more.     I  told  you  so. 
Up  again  ?     Why,  what's  the  trouble  ?     On  your 

eyelash  winks  the  bubble 
Mortals  call  a  tear,  I  fancy.     Holes  in  stock 
ing,  heel  and  toe  ? 

Goodman,  though  your  speech  is  crusty  now  and 

then,  there's  nothing  rusty 
In  your  heart.     A  child's  least  sorrow  makes 
your  wet  eyes  glisten,  too  ; 


46  GOODY  SANTA    CLAUS. 

But  I'll  mend  that  sock  so  neatly  it  shall  hold 

your  gifts  completely. 

Take  the  reins  and  let  me  show  you  what  a 
woman's  wit  can  do. 


Puff !    I'm  up  again,  my  Deary,  flushed  a  bit  and 

somewhat  weary, 
With  my  wedding  snow-flake  bonnet  worse  for 

many  a  sooty  knock  ; 
But  be  glad  you  let  me  wheedle,  since,  an  icicle 

for  needle, 

Threaded  with    the   last   pale    moonbeam,  I 
have  darned  the  laddie's  sock. 

Then  I  tucked  a  paint-box  in  it  ('twas  no  easy 

task  to  win  it 
From  the  Artist  of  the  Autumn  Leaves)  and 

frost-fruits  white  and  sweet, 
With    the    toys    your    pocket  misses — oh  !    and 

kisses  upon  kisses 

To  cherish  safe  from  evil  paths  the  motherless 
small  feet. 

Chirrup  !    chirrup  !      There's   a   patter   of  soft 

footsteps  and  a  clatter 

Of  child  voices.     Speed  it,  reindeer,  up  the 
sparkling  Arctic  Hill  ! 


SLUMBER   FAIRIES.  47 

Merry  Christmas,  little  people  !     Joy-bells  ring 

in  every  steeple, 

And  Goody's  gladdest  of  the  glad.     I've  had 
my  own  sweet  will. 


SLUMBER   FAIRIES. 

USH,  my  little  one  !    Hush  !  Lie  down. 

Mamma  will  sing, — 
Sing  of  a  boy  in  a  wee  white  gown, 
Sing  of  a  king  with  a  golden  crown, 
A  crown  of  curls  on  a  sweet,  small  head, 
And  a  throne  as  high  as  a  trundle-bed. 
Dear  little  king  ! 

Hush,  my  baby  !  a  song  I  know 

Softer  than  all, — 

A  song  as  soft  as  the  falling  snow, 
And  I  will  sing  it  so  light  and  low, 
Baby  must  listen  and  lie  as  still 
As  the  snow-flakes  lie  on  the  quiet  hill, 

Where  they  fall. 

Does  baby  know,  when  the  day  grows  late, 

Chilly  and  dim, 

The  slumber- fairies,  who  stand  and  wait 
Out  in  the  lane  and  beyond  the  gate 


48  SLUMBER   FAIRIES. 

Pass  over  the  lawn  and  open  the  door 
And  steal  across  the  nursery  floor, 
Looking  for  him? 


Such  tiny  fairies,  with  slippers  white 

Over  their  feet. 

Their  cloaks  are  gray  as  the  early  night, 
But  their  caps  are  lit  with  a  silver  light, 
As  if  a  moonbeam  were  caught,  perhaps, 
And  cut  up  small  into  fairy  caps 

Dainty  and  neat. 

Up  the  side  of  the  trundle-bed 

Softly  they  go, 

And  over  the  pillow  with  gentle  tread 
They  come  to  the  golden  baby-head. 
Under  his  lashes  he  tries  to  peep, 
But  before  he  knows,  he  is  fast  asleep. 

Isn't  it  so? 

For  they  bind  the  baby  with  fairy  charms 

Wondrous  to  tell. 

They  loose  the  clasp  of  the  dimpled  arms, 
And  smooth  his  forehead  with  soft,  small  palms, 
And  draw  their  cloaks  o'er  his  drowsy  ears, 
Till  a  fairy  music  is  all  he  hears, 

Pleasing  him  well. 


FAIRY   GUESSES. 


49 


They  shade  his  eyes  with  a  little  dream. 

Where  did  it  grow? 

It  grew  by  the  side  of  the  fairy  stream, 
Where  baby  wandereth  now,  I  deem, 
With  the  slumber-fairies  to  guide  his  feet. 
Good-night,  dear  laddie  !     Your  rest  be  sweet ! 

Mamma  must  go. 


FAIRY   GUESSES. 

HENCE  do  you  guess  the  fairy  came? 
Out  of  the  heart  of  a  dear  old  dame, 
Whose  ruffled  cap  is  clouds  and  skies. 
Mother  Nature  we  call  her  name. 


Where  do  you  guess  the  fairy  stood  ? 
Under  the  shade  of  an  autumn  wood, 
Into  an  aster's  dying  eyes 
Smiling  sweet  as  a  fairy  could. 

What  do  you  guess  the  fairy  wore  ? 
Her  grass-green  silk  was  frayed  so  sore 
That  she  hid  the  rents  from  the  butterflies 
With  a  tidy,  hoarfrost  pinafore. 

What  do  you  guess  the  fairy  ate? 
Out  of  a  curious,  cobweb  plate 
She  tasted  in  a  dainty  wise 
A  frozen  dew-drop  delicate. 


50  FAIRY'S  LULLABY. 

What  do  you  guess  the  fairy  said  ? 
When  the  falling  oak-leaves  all  turn  red, 
When  the  lonely  swallow  southward  flies, 
'Tis  time  for  fairies  to  go  to  bed. 

What  do  you  guess  the  fairy  did  ? 
She  kissed  her  hand  and  down  she  slid 
Where  all  the  beautiful  summer  lies, 
Under  a  snowy  blanket  hid. 

How  do  you  guess  the  fairy  sleeps  ? 

Well ;  for  whenever  her  blue  eye  peeps, 

An  old  nurse  soothes  her  with  lullabies, 

And  she  will  not  wake  till  the  old  nurse  weeps. 


FAIRY'S   LULLABY. 

N  lily  cup  I'll  nest  me, 
From  fairy  dance  to  rest  me, 
For  the  silver  moon 
Dips  low,  and  soon 
Would  the  goblins  swart  molest  me. 

But  never  a  gnome  will  mock  me, 
Nor  peering  toad-face  shock  me, 
While  the  wind-elf  blithe 
Stands  on  tiptoe  lithe 
By  the  lily's  stem  to  rock  me ; 


FAIRY  RIP    VAN   WINKLE.  51 

And  the  star-sprites  lean  above  me, 
For  all  the  star-sprites  love  me  ; 

In  circle  fair 

Each  holds  in  air 
His  little  gold  torch  above  me. 

Come,  soft-winged  Sleep,  and  kiss  me, 
For  the  dream-land  fairies  miss  me, 

Till  thy  sweet,  cool  lips 

Part  the  folded  tips 
Of  my  lily-couch  to  kiss  me. 

But  when  thy  spells  unbind  me 
The  sunbeams  shall  not  find  me, 

And  my  dreamy  nest 

Be  only  guessed 
By  the  fragrance  left  behind  me. 


FAIRY  RIP  VAN  WINKLE. 


IS  acorn  cradle  with  fern  and  moss 
Elf  mamma  had  covered  over, 
And  then  had  forgotten  the  path  across 


The  blossoming  field  of  clover. 
For  she  was  the  wildest  of  all  wee  things, 
And  loved  to  dance  in  the  moonlight  rings, 
Or  steal  her  a  ride  on  butterfly  wings, — 

A  genuine  gypsy  rover  ! 


52  FAIRY  RIP    VAN    WINKLE. 

Streams  flow, 

Buds  blow, 
Stars  peep  out  and  twinkle. 

Still  deep 

Thy  sleep, 
Fairy  Rip  van  Winkle  ! 

But  he  woke  one  day  and  with  drowsy  eyes 

Smiled  into  a  dewy  bubble 
On  his  cradle  edge ;  then  in  swift  surprise 

Cried  out  in  a  voice  of  trouble  : 
"  O  mamma,  mamma,  I  don't  look  right, 
My  cobweb  nightie  has  grown  so  tight ; 
My  buttercup  curls  are  daisy  white  ; 
And  over  my  eyebrows  double 
What's  this 
Cross-criss 

Funny  little  wrinkle?" 
Long  gazed, 
Amazed, 
Fairy  Rip  van  Winkle. 

For  his  nap  in  the  acorn  had  lasted  till 

A  new  oak  forest  had  sprouted, 
And  the  elves  had  vanished  from  mead  and  rill, 

By  the  school-book  army  routed. 
And  the  ancient  baby,  whose  eyes  could  see 
Never  a  toadstool  spread  for  tea, 
Nor  lullaby-nurse  of  a  honey-bee, 
Put  up  his  lip  and  pouted. 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  53 

But  no 
Tiptoe 

Lily  bells  went  tinkle. 
Bye-bye! 

Don't  cry, 
Fairy  Rip  van  Winkle! 


THE  WISHING-CAP. 

LITTLE  maid  stole   to  a  moonlight 

knoll, 

In  the  fairy  ring  to  tread ; 
But  the  dancing  fays  had  gone  their  ways 
And  a  gnome  was  there  instead. 

"Brown  gnome,  please  lend  me  your  wishing- 
cap." 

He  snatched  off  his  small,  green  hood 
And  tossed  it  to  her.      "  Many  thanks,  kind  sir ; 

You  are  certainly  very  good. 

"Seven  times  one  !     And  what  shall  I  wish?" 

The  gnome  sat  down  on  a  thistle, 
With  his  peaked  red  shoon  pointed  up  to  the 
moon, 

And  practiced  an  elfin  whistle. 


54  THE    WISHING-CAP. 

"I  wish  and  I  wish  and  I  wish  and  I  wish 

That  you  were  as  rich  as  I, 
Little  brown  gnome,  for  I've  pennies  at  home, 

And  I  don't  know  what  to  buy. 

"I  wish  and  I  wish  and  I  wish  and  I  wish 

My  heart  were  a  wild-rose  briar, 
Where  the  bell-voiced  veery,  when-  days  grow 
weary, 

Leads  off  the  vesper  choir. 

"  I  wish  my  heart  were  a  forest  brook 

A-ripple  with  sunshiny  laughter, 
Where  to  quench  their  thirst  shy  deer  come  first 

And  the  pattering  rabbits  after. 

"  I  wish  my  heart  were  a  golden  star 

That  guides  o'er  the  creamy  foam 
The  shimmering  sails  through  whistling  gales 

To  the  harbor  lights  of  home. 

"  I  wish  my  heart  were  a  blade  of  grass, 

Where  Katydids  all  a-row 
Tilt  in  the  sun,  singing  high  deeds  done 

Of  Katydids  long  ago. 

"  I  wish  my  heart  were  a  rosy  cloud 
On  the  sunset  edge  of  even, 


THE    WISHING-CAP.  55 

That  tenderly  bears  the  children's  prayers 
Through  the  open  doors  of  Heaven. 


"  I  wish  my  heart  were  as  large,  as  large, 

As  large  as  the  dome-like  skies, 
There's  so  much  to  love,  from  God  above 

To  the  little  gossamer  flies." 

Then  the  lassie  gave  back  the  small  green  hood 

And  curtsied  to  the  gnome, 
And  the  lilies  sweet  caressed  her  feet, 

As  the  glow-worms  lit  her  home. 

The  gnome  dived  under  the  hard,  gray  rocks 
To  the  land  where  the  gnome-folk  dwell ; 

A  land  of  gold  and  jewels  untold, 
Hard  by  the  gates  of  hell. 

But  while  he  sate  in  his  wishing-cap 
On  the  throne  in  his  diamond  castle, 

Squeaked  his  wee  brown  wife,  in  a  voice  like  a 

fife, 
"Why  !  there's  a  tear  on  the  tassel ! " 

And  never  a  pearl  from  the  Indian  seas, 

Nor  emerald  cold  and  clear, 
Shed  such  a  light  through  those  caves  of  night 

As  the  little  gnome-king's  tear. 


56  BABY  HAZEL'S    VOYAGE. 


BABY    HAZEL'S  VOYAGE. 

ING  NOD,  King  Nod,  the  drowsy  god,  is 

such  an  idle  fellow, 
He  sleeps  away  the  livelong  day,  while 

yet  the  sun  is  yellow  ; 
But  when  the  sinking  sun  is  red  and  robin's  song 

is  failing, 

Tis  time  for  him  to  rub  his  dim  old  eyes  and  go 
a-sailing. 

His  moonshine  boat  is  soon  afloat ;  a  glow-worm 

serves  for  pilot ; 
On  silver  oars  they  graze  the  shores  of  many  a 

starry  islet ; 
In  silver  sails  they  catch  the  winds,  and  down 

the  cloudy  billows 
Full  fast  they  ride  before  the  tide  to  Baby  Hazel's 

pillows. 

"  Ahoy,  sweet  maid  !     Now  art  afraid,  with  Old 

King  Nod  for  skipper, 
To  sail  the  deep  and   drink  sweet   sleep  from 

yonder  golden  dipper? 
Aboard,    aboard,    my    dainty  lass  !    aboard    my 

silver  vessel ! 
And  thou  shalt  see,  in  dream-land  tree,  the  little 

dream-birds  nestle." 


WIDE  A  WAKE  AND  FAST  ASLEEP.  57 

She  bowed — ah  me  ! — her  rosy  knee,  and  kissed 
the  old  king's  sceptre. 

Unto  his  breast  the  child  he  pressed  and  down 
the  darkness  swept  her. 

Oh,  frail  the  skiff,  the  silver  skiff!  O  Hazel 
Eyes,  take  warning  ! 

On  Sunrise  Reef  'twill  come  to  grief.  Good 
night,  good-night — good-morning  ! 


WIDE  AWAKE  AND   FAST  ASLEEP. 

(One  Side  of  the  Question.) 

BLITHE  Summer  Day  came  out  of  the 

east, 

And  a  rare  little  lad  was  he. 
His   lips  were  red  from  a  strawberry  feast, 

And  his  eyes  were  blue  as  the  sea. 
His  yellow  hair  was  blown  by  the  breeze, 

Like  grass  in  a  windy  place. 
He  had  torn  his  jacket  in  climbing  trees, 
And  he  laughed  all  over  his  face. 

He  danced  in  the  elm,  on  the  leafy  spray 

Where  the  nest  of  the  oriole  swings, 
Till  the  birdies  had  winked  the  sleep  away 

All  under  their  gleaming  wings. 
He  shook  the  stems  of  the  lilies  tall, 

While  they  nodded  in  soft  surprise 
And  rubbed  with  their  fingers  white  and  small 

The  dreams  from  their  golden  eyes. 


58          THE  SUN  OUT  OF  TEMPER. 

The  daisy  hastened  to  wash  her  face 

In  a  drop  of  the  crystal  dew, 
And  each  green  leaf  of  the  woodland  lace 

The  kiss  of  the  sunshine  knew. 
The  squirrel  chattered  and  combed  his  tail 

That  curls  up  over  his  spine, 
And  the  pinkest  clover  turned  almost  pale 

When  the  village  clock  struck  nine. 

For  two  little  boys  in  two  little  beds 

Lay  dozing  the  morning  long, 
Though  the  sun  shone  in  on  their  tangled  heads 

And  the  birds  had  ended  their  song. 
"  O  dear  !  O  dear  ! "  sighed  the  Summer  Day, 

"  What  lazy  small  boys  I  see  ! 
I  wish — I  wish  they  would  wake  and  play 

With  a  bright  little  Day  like  me." 


THE  SUN  OUT  OF  TEMPER. 

(The  Other  Side  of  the  Question.) 

H  !  I  say  and  declare  that  it's   really 

not  fair 
For  the    Day-Star  to  call  me  so 

soon  ! " 

Cried  the  Sun,  very  red,  as  he  jumped  out  of  bed 
And  made  up  a  face  at  the  Moon. 


THE  SUN  OUT  OF  TEMPER.          59 

So  he  climbed  the  blue  skies  with  his  thumbs  in 
his  eyes 

And  his  hair  tumbled  over  his  head, 
And  he  gave  a  great  yawn  in  the  face  of  the  Dawn, 

Which  was  very  bad  manners,  she  said. 


Then   the   Sun  was   ashamed   to   hear   himself 
blamed, 

And  being  ashamed  made  him  cross. 
So  he  withered  the  wheat  with  his  arrows  of  heat 

And  trampled  the  dew  from  the  moss. 
And  he  fumed  and  he  fussed  till  the  toad  in  the 
dust 

Did  envy  the  frog  in  the  pool 
And  swore  he  would  doat  on  a  pond-lily  boat 

Much  more  than  a  mushroom  stool. 

The  flowers  were  faint,  the  trees  made  complaint, 

And  the  little  leaves  teased  for  a  drink, 
But  the  Sun  only  stared,  for  all  that  he  cared 

Was  to  glower  with  never  a  wink  ; 
Till  it  happened  one  day  that  the  World  went 
away, 

The  World  and  his  Wife  to  remain 
A  week  and  no   more  with  their  Aunt  by  the 
shore. 

Said  the  Sun,  "It  is  time  for  a  rain." 


60   THE  LITTLE  KNIGHT  IN  GREEN. 

Said  the  Sun,  "I  repent,  and  'my  anger  is  spent. 

I  must  cry  seven  days  at  the  least." 
So  he  tied  up  his  head  in  a  shabby  white  shred 

That  he  tore  from  a  cloud  in  the  east, 
And  he  stirred  him  a  broth  from  the  fogs  of  the 
north 

To  save  him  a  pain  in  the  side, 
And  then  he  sat  down  in  a  dismal  gray  gown, 

And  oh,  for  the  cry  that  he  cried  ! 

Sobbed  the  penitent  Sun,  "  I  have  only  begun. 

I  shall  shed  many  tears  for  the  loss 
Of  my  temper.     I'll  shiver  and  cry  like  a  river, 

I'm  so  sorry  I  ever  was  cross. 
But  my  patience  was  tried  and   the  cause  I'll 
confide, 

That  early  birds  all  may  take  warning, 
For  in  summer  'tis  true  my  hot  temper  is  due 

To  my  rising  too  soon  in  the  morning." 


THE  LITTLE  KNIGHT  IN  GREEN. 


1HAT  fragrant- footed  comer 

Is  stepping  o'er  my  head? 
Behold  my  Queen,  the  Summer, 
Who  deems  her  warriors  dead  ! 


THE  LITTLE  KNIGHT  IN  GREEN.  6l 

Now  rise,  ye  knights  of  many  fights, 

From  out  your  sleep  profound  ! 
Make  sharp  your  spears,  my  gallant  peers, 

And  prick  the  frozen  ground  ! 

Before  the  White  Host  harm  her, 

We'll  hurry  to  her  aid. 
We'll  don  our  elfin  armor, 

And  every  tiny  blade 
Shall  bear  atop  a  dewy  drop, 

The  lifeblood  of  the  Frost, 
Till  from  their  King  the  order  ring, 
"Fall  back  !  the  day  is  lost !  " 

Now  shame  to  knighthood,  brothers  ! 

Must  Summer  plead  in  vain? 
And  shall  I  wait  till  others 

My  crown  of  sunshine  gain  ? 
Alone  this  day  I'll  dare  the  fray, 

Alone  the  victory  win. 
In  me  my  Queen  shall  find,  I  ween, 

A  sturdy  paladin. 

To  battle,  ho  !  King  Winter 

Hath  rushed  on  me  apace. 
My  fragile  weapons  splinter 

Beneath  his  icy  mace. 


62    THE  LITTLE  KNIGHT  IN  GREEN. 

I  stagger  back.     I  yield — alack  ! 

I  fall.     My  senses  pass. 
Woe  worth  the  chance  for  doughtiest  lance 

Of  all  the  House  of  Grass  ! 

Last  hope  my  heart  gives  over. 

But  hark  !  a  shout  of  cheer  ! 
Don  Daisy  and  Count  Clover, 

Lord  Buttercup  are  here. 
Behold  !  behold  !  with  shield  of  gold 

Prince  Dandelion  comes. 
Lord  Bumblebee  beats  valiantly 

His  rolling  battle-drums. 

My  brothers  quit  their  slumbers 

And  lead  the  van  of  war. 
Before  our  swelling  numbers 

The  foes  are  driven  far. 
The  day's  our  own  ;  but  overthrown, 

A  little  knight  in  green, 
I  kiss  her  feet  and  deem  it  sweet 

To  perish  for  my  Queen. 


PART  III. 


CHILDREN'S  SUNDAY. 

ING  out,  sing  out  in  the  golden  weather. 
Sweet  birds  on  the  nodding  sprays  ; 
Sing,  wren   and  robin  and  thrush  to 
gether, 
Till  the  greenwood  ring  with  praise. 

Drop  your  song  to  the  daisied  grasses 
And  the  clovers  stored  with  wine  ; 

Fling  it  forth  on  the  breeze  that  passes 
The  marsh  where  the  marigolds  shine. 

Hide  it  deep  in  the  red-lipped  mosses 

With  the  crystal  dew-drops  wet ; 
Cast  on  the  wings  of  the  moth  that  crosses 

The  haunt  of  the  violet. 

Sing  out,  sing  out  till  the  hillside  flowers 

And  the  ferns  of  the  valley  know 
That  I  seek,  thro'  the  sunshiny,  June-tide  hours 

The  bonniest  buds  that  blow. 

O  queen  of  the  wildwood,  rose  of  the  briar, 

Wilt  thou  quit  thy  gypsy  halls 
To  sway  in  the  breath  of  the  chanting  choir 

And  garland  the  chapel  walls  ? 


66  CHILDREN'S  HYMN. 

O  columbine,  forfeit  the  bee's  caressing  ; 

Peep  forth  from  thy  leafy  nook ; 
Thine  head  shall  droop  in  the  solemn  blessing 

And  shadow  the  Sacred  Book. 

For  to-morrow,  the  pearl  of  the  jewels  seven, 

Is  the  whitest  in  all  the  year, 
When  the  angels  lean  from  their  seats  in  heaven 

To  beckon  the  children  near. 

Up  the  winding  path,  where  the  church-crowned 
hill  is, 

Shall  we  set  our  footprints  small, 
And  flock  to  His  courts,  who  loved  the  lilies 

And  noted  the  sparrow's  fall. 

Who  calls  not  only  hearts  grave  with  duty 

And  eyes  with  sorrowing  dim, 
But  the  little  children,  in  life's  first  beauty, 

Suffers  to  come  unto  Him. 


CHILDREN'S  HYMN. 

IS  the  month  the  roses  spill 

On  the  breeze  their  hoarded  scent ; 
Carols  clear  the  robins  trill, 
Peeping  through  a  leafy  tent. 
Blossomed  sprays,  wildwood  lays, 
Help  us  voice  our  Sabbath  praise. 


CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  67 

He,  who  once  on  earth  below 

Loved  the  lilies  of  the  field, 
Heeds  the  roses  drooping  low 

For  the  fragrance  that  they  yield. 
But  our  prayer  up  the  air 
May  a  sweeter  perfume  bear. 

He,  who  taketh  tender  note 

Of  the  falling  sparrow,  sees 
How  the  robin's  ruby  throat 

Swells  with  tuneful  jubilees. 
But  our  song  floateth  strong 
Far  above  the  forest  throng. 

For  the  Lord,  when  bird  and  flower 
By  his  grace  were  amply  blest, 

Granted  as  the  children's  dower 
Larger  hearts  to  love  Him  best. 

Fair  the  sprays  ;  sweet  the  lays  ; 

Love  alone  is  perfect  praise. 


CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

ALMLY  the  Syrian  starlights  glisten 

Far  on  the  valleys  and  mountain-bars. 
Why  do  the  shepherds  rouse  and  listen  ? 
.  Stirs  an  anthem  among  the  stars  ? 


68  EASTER  LILIES. 

Joyous  melodies  thrill  and  quiver. 

All  the  air  is  with  music  rife, 
Sweet  as  the  flow  of  the  crystal  river 

Under  the  shade  of  the  Tree  of  Life. 

Swells  the  song  till  the  night  is  holden 
Rapt  in  gladness  and  awe  and  love  ; 

Splendors  amethyst,  rose  and  golden, 
Shed  from  an  arch  of  wings  above. 

Soft  as  a  silver  mist  retreating 

Soar  and  vanish  the  seraph  throng, 

Rainbow  plumes  still  earthward  beating 
Fainting  strains  of  the  far-off  song. 

Fade,  bright  wings,  on  the  purple  even  ! 

Wane,  oh  glory,  from  hill  and  mere  ! 
Hence  that  beautiful  song  of  Heaven 

Earth  shall  sing,  while  the  angels  hear. 


EASTER    LILIES. 

ENT  is  past,  and  the  lilies  blow, 

Beautiful  Easter  lilies  ! 
White  as  the  flakes  of  Christmas  snowf 
Beautiful  Easter  lilies  ! 


THANKSGIVING  NIGHT.  69 

White  as  the  wings  of  a  wandering  dove, 
White  as  the  sailing  clouds  above, 
Pure  on  your  petals  the  sunbeams  glow, 
Beautiful  Easter  lilies  ! 


Oh  !  were  our  hearts  but  purged  of  sin, 

Beautiful  Easter  lilies  ! 
Grace  like  yours  might  our  spirits  win, 

Beautiful  Easter  lilies  ! 
Christ  arisen,  from  heaven  above, 
Be  the  light  of  Thy  holy  love 
Shed  on  our  souls  like  sunshine  in 

Beautiful  Easter  lilies  ! 


THANKSGIVING   NIGHT. 

HE  merry  guests,  who  feasted  long 
And  filled  the  day  with  laughter, 
Have  said  farewell ;  and  even-song, 
Sweet  mother,  cometh  after. 


I  meant  to  count  between  my  prayers 
My  blessings,  but  their  number 

Is  very  great ;  and,  unawares, 
My  eyelids  droop  with  slumber. 


7O  THE   EMPTY  ROOM. 

The  stars  God  lighted  wax  not  dim  : 

His  angels  never  falter, 
Whose  voices  chant  the  happy  hymn 

Around  his  holy  altar. 

But  I  am  such  a  little  child 

That  often,  after  playing, 
Beneath  thy  kiss  my  lips  have  smiled, 

And  slept,  instead  of  praying. 

Perchance  the  Lord,  whose  hand  did  press 
My  hours  so  full  of  pleasure, 

Heard  in  my  mirth  the  thankfulness 
My  words  unfitly  measure. 

His  peace  lies  on  my  childish  mood, 
Like  dew  on  meadow  daisies  : 

I  gave  my  joy  for  gratitude, 
And  lift  my  love  for  praises. 


THE    EMPTY   ROOM. 


IS  a  fable  of  the  East, 

Oft  by  grave-eyed  merchants  told, 
Resting  for  their  frugal  feast, 


Dates  and  fountain-water  cold, 
Underneath  the  shadow  calm 
Of  the  palm. 


THE  EMPTY  ROOM. 

Once  a  sage  of  sages,  bowed 

By  the  griefs  of  many  years, 
Led  two  young  disciples,  vowed 
Unto  truth  beyond  their  peers, 
To  an  empty  room.     Surprise 
Lit  their  eyes. 

Unto  each  he  gave  a  coin, 

While  they  waited,  fain  to  do 
What  the  master  might  enjoin. 
Tremulous  his  words,  and  few. 
"Spend  the  gold  and  fill  the  bare 
Chamber  there." 

Sped  the  first  with  eager  feet 

To  the  gay  bazaars  and  bought 
What  he  deemed  most  rich  and  meet, 
Woods  and  stuffs  full  deftly  wrought 
But  not  all  their  costly  grace 
Filled  the  space. 

Musing  deep  in  earnest  breast, 

Through  the  mart  his  fellow  passed 
And  a  candle  bought :  the  rest 
Of  the  gold  as  alms  he  cast ; 
For  the  room  his  candle  bright 
Filled  with  light. 


72         SANDALPHON'S  ROSEBUDS. 

Quoth  the  sage  :  "  By  this  once  more 

Teach  I,  ere  my  voice  is  still, 
Vanity  of  earthly  store. 
Only  Allah's  love  can  fill 

These  our  empty  hearts.     I  cease. 
Go  in  peace." 


SANDALPHON'S   ROSEBUDS. 

N  the  herald  hush  of  even, 

Spent  with  ecstasy  of  praising, 
From  the  pearl-wrought  gate  of  heaven 
Angels  twain  were  earthward  gazing, 
And  their  speech,  each  to  each, 

Was  a  wordless  music-flow  ; 
And  the  love-light  of  their  eyes 
Thrilled  the  sunset-colored  skies 
To  a  clearer  glow. 

Whist !  they  cease  their  soft  conferring, 

Rapt  in  looks  of  gladsome  greeting, 
For  the  lower  air  is  stirring 

Under  wings  of  ample  beating  ; 
And  behold  !  plumed  with  gold 

Mounts  Sandalphon,  he  who  bears 
Mystic  blossoms  to  the  throne, 
Blossoms  that  on  earth  are  known 

As  the  breath  of  prayers. 


THE   RAINBOW  PATH.  73 

Swift  they  scan  with  earnest  glances 

All  his  sheaf  from  twilight  hour, 
Lilies  white  of  saintly  trances, 

Sorrow's  purple  passion-flower ; 
But  the  smile  dawneth  while 

Calm  Sandalphon  tenderly 
Shows  his  rosebuds,  gathered  where 
Children  lift  the  voice  of  prayer 

At  a  mother's  knee. 

Brightly  smile  the  angel  faces, 

Knowing  well  how  earth-freed  mortals, 
Bearing  still  life's  battle  traces, 

Pressing  through  those  pearly  portals, 
Fleet  of  tread,  fragrance-led, 

Shall  in  God's  own  garden  find 
All  the  folded  buds  abloom, 
Roses  shedding  sweet  perfume 

On  heavenly  wind. 


THE   RAINBOW   PATH. 

i  HE  rain  it  rained  a  weary  while, 

But  when  the  clouds  took  flight, 
The  setting  sun  flashed  back  a  smile. 
(Good-night,  dear  sun,  good-night !) 
And  from  the  far  horizon's  breast 
An  arching  rainbow  sprang  to  rest 


74  THE  RAINBOW  PATH. 

Its  hither  tip  on  mountain  crest, 
A  bridge  of  colors  seven. 
Rainbow, 
I  know 
Thou  art  the  path  to  Heaven. 

The  flowers  that  smiled  by  April  rills 

And  made  the  summer  bright 
Have  faded  from  the  autumn  hills. 

(Good-night,  dear  sun,  good-night !) 
But  blossom-spirits  sweet  and  fair 
Are  wafted  by  the  gentle  air 
To  bloom  above  in  beauty  rare 

And  weave  the  colors  seven. 
Rainbow, 
I  know 

Thou  art  the  path  to  Heaven. 

And  when  along  that  gleaming  way 
We  fare  in  sandals  white 
Beyond  the  golden  gates  of  day, 
(Good-night,  dear  sun,  good-night  !) 
We'll  kiss  the  blossoms  as  we  go, 
And  think  how  on  the  earth  below 
They  lit  the  fields,  ere  called  to  glow 
Within  the  colors  seven. 
Rainbow, 
I  know 
Thou  art  the  path  to  Heaven. 


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